


"I’m not used to being loved. I wouldn’t know what to do."

by Likorys



Series: Tumblr snippets [11]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, and Jaskier even softer, and the sex in second chapter because they deserve it, geralt is SOFT, just two guys being kind to each other because the world sucks, that's the plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:40:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23177848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Likorys/pseuds/Likorys
Summary: Geralt has learned to be gentle and kind to people is he wants them to tolerate him and his company or touch. He tries to do it even more with Jaskier, finally finding someone who just might enjoy his company. Of course, the world has different plans, but Jaskier as always stands up to the challenge and makes it all better.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Tumblr snippets [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1651510
Comments: 8
Kudos: 156





	"I’m not used to being loved. I wouldn’t know what to do."

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a quote by F. Scott Fitzgerald.

Geralt knows to be gentle and careful with humans, learned it out of necessity. It’s hard enough to be tolerated with barely hidden disgust or fear - it’s even worse when a too fast movement or too sharp tone makes people flinch and shy away. Even the most expensive whores don’t hide it completely, let alone common people.

He tries to be kind with Jaskier too, but it doesn’t work. His first touch steals bard’s breath away and the next one lets him feel every hit and kick coming from the elves (as if he didn’t already hear his ribs crack and break).

When Jaskier stays despite it all, he puts all the effort to do better. He gives him spaces, keeps his voice low when he speaks at all and doesn’t touch him unprompted. He doesn’t push him away, secretly glad that Jaskier’s so touchy and so free with affection, even if it’s simply the way he is and has nothing to do with Geralt. He indulges him when he whines about being tired, lets him steal ale and food from his hands if he wishes, allows anything that will keep Jaskier with him, because being with him feels like breathing after a decade of drowning and he can’t imagine losing it again.

Most of all, he keeps him away from his fights, ignoring the grumblings about _authenticity, Geralt, how can I write songs about things I never saw!_

Geralt appreciates the songs, it’s why he never actually makes Jaskier shut up even when the music grated on his senses, why he forces out snippets about his hunts despite being at a loss about which parts won’t scare the bard away, why he sits by in a corner and lets people ogle him during the songs even as the scents and sounds overwhelm him.

He isn’t naive enough to expect Jaskier to stay after seeing his work firsthand. It might be alluring to sing and whisper about, but it’s much different to truly see the monsters, to be close enough to risk your life. It’s brutal, bloody and often messy, so he expects Jaskier to be scared away, with his fine clothes and constant whining, with the way he pouts at a night in the wood.

So Geralt tries sticking to easy contracts for a while, to keep danger low if Jaskier ever gets bored or bold enough to try sneaking after him - but those pay very little and relying on Jaskier to secure their rooms and food doesn’t sit well with him.

So when they pass a proper city and he sees a flyer about wyverns in a nest of archespores, asking to kill and three different ones asking for ingredients asy take from the monster if you know how to kill them right, he caves in. He leaves Jaskier and Roach in a tavern and makes a stop right outside the town borders, to take potions and prepare a flammable oil to spread on his swords. Won’t help with wyverns, but will aid him in containing the archespores.

Of course, as always, things go to shit, because small contracts have one advantage, which is that tey’re less likely to be false. They might oversell and make a stray drowner into a nest of dragons, but they won’t undersell and send him half-baked into the middle of _nesting wyverns_ who fed on the plants and mutated due to poison.

He comes back in the middle of the night, sticky with blood that’s no all monster, with eyes still black and hair a mess, probably looking like a snare bait with the amount of gore still on him. He tries to keep as quiet as possible when he finds the inn and goes up the stairs.

He plans to just undress, wash his face and try to sleep so his wounds can heal faster, nothing more or he risks waking Jaskier because of course they share a room. He tells bard it’s safer this way and it’s partially true - he just doesn’t add he simply likes his presence, an even breath and steady heartbeat so close to him, to trusting as he falls asleep next to _a witcher_ , no matter how gentle and none-thretening he tries to behave.

He doesn't expect Jaskier to still be up, sitting by the window and scribbling on paper in the moonlight. He takes a step back, but a board creacks and bard’s head snaps up.

Geralt tenses and tries to make himself smaller involuntarily, awaiting his reaction.

“Geralt-!” Jaskier’s eyes widen impossible and as he gasps, Geralt squeezes his eyes tight, waiting for the air to turn acrid with fear, for screams or curses, to be kicked out, but-

All he smells is mildew of anxiety and all he hears is dry shuffling of paper and fabrics before clumsy steps thud at the floor.

“Can I-?” Jaskier’s voice trails of and he must be standing right in front of him. Must see the state Geralt is in, must smell the mess, must notice the cuts in the armor and in the pale skin, must see the black veins cutting through his face.

He must finally face the reality of wicher’s work, the parts that Geralt knows are best left unsaid because nobody cares in what state he comes back, as long as the job is done.

Jaskier must know and see it all, but somehow Geralt still doesn’t smell fear and he’s neither kicked out or left alone, so he dares open his eyes and-

Looking at Jaskier’s face feels like a punch straight to his lungs, stealing the air away and leaving him dizzy. Those blue eyes are still wide, but there is not a trace of fear, only worry with slight disgust in the crease of his brows. His hand hovers in the air, right above Geralt’s elbow where a sharp claw tore the armor off and flayed the flesh almost to his wrist.

It’s almost as if he still wants to _touch him_ and Geralt cannot imagine why.

“Go to sleep.” he’s hoarse, his throat as tight as his chest with something soft and fragile that he doesn’t recognise. “I’ll deal with-”

“Like hell you will!” Jaskier suddenly smells of rage, sharp and biting as his fingers close around Geralt's wrist to push him into the room and close the door behind.

Geralt lets himself be pulled to an empty tub in the corner, few buckets full of water next to it.

“Water’s long gone cold, but-” Jaskier starts, but Geralt just moves his hand to warm it up and doesn’t fully suppress his flinch when Jaskier’s jumps in place as the water suddenly gives off steam.

The fingers tighten around his wrists and he looks at them, because anything is better than Jaskier’s disgust over the magic. He knows some people appreciate the convenience and some even like it, but far more common is fear or disgust at meddling with the unnatural. He’s no pretty mage that graces royal halls, to be so gifted and face no backlash.

“Geralt?” Jaskier tugs at his hand and Geralt looks at him before he can stop himself, still dizzy with what’s probably blood loss and not just too much emotions.

“I’m fine.” he forces out and pulls his hand back, reaching to pouch at his hip to find a potion and drinks it in one go, hissing at the first flash of searing heat that spreads trough his veins before it dulls to a warm throbbing, like his every heartbeat is echoing in his entire body. “Leave me be.”

“Fuck that.” Jaskier rolls his eyes and then his sleeves. Geralt’s still amazed at the amount of hair on his skin and even more so at another soft touch to his elbow. “I’ll help you get it off and push you into the tub if I need to, you hear me?” he jabs a free finger at witcher’s chest before he starts undoing clasps and ties of his armor.

Geralt lets him, just watching, tense and still waiting for the moment it becomes too much and Jaskier bolts or starts to ask for _accommodations_. It never comes, bard unusually silent as heavy armor comes off, then leather jerkin and pants, finally followed by worn out underclothes.

Geralt barely thinks about standing naked in front of Jaskier before he’s actually pushed into the tab and he goes willingly, absolutely confused.

Jaskier should be back on the bed, trying to pretend nothing is happening or out of the room, trying to keep as far away as possible. Not grabbing the buckets to pour hot water into the tub, careful to avoid doing so over witcher’s body and the wounds.

“Why are you-?” Geralt starts asking before he stops himself and bites his cheek till it bleeds. He should know better than to question it and just accept what he’s given instead on asking questions that might make Jaskier realize there cannot be a good answer to this, make him stop.

But Jaskier only slaps his arm, weak as a newborn and on the least bruised part of his skin before he grabs the last bucket.

“I should be insulted you even thought to ask it.” he says, anxiety back with a hint of confusion. “I guess this will do for my revenge.” then he smiles, all teeth that shine white with moonlight to Geralt's keen black eyes, before pouring the water over his head.

Geralt curses, shaking as water washes off grime and blood and irritates fresh cuts he didn’t even notice until they started stinging now.

“Sorry, but you need a good clean.” Jaskier brushes hair from his face and Geralt grinds his teeth. “I’ll just use the water, no soap, can’t you deal with it?” he asks, voice level with clear effort as his fingers tap nervously at Geralt’s arms.

“Plea-” he bites on his tongue, but then Jaskier’s looking at him again and he can’t refuse those worried blue eyes. “Don’t- I won’t hurt you, I swear. You don’t have to- please don’t bind me.” he finally forced out, squeezing his eyes shut again, expecting a refusal.

Maybe more subtle than what he’s used to, without the mocking of how little worth comes with _butcher’s word_ , but-

“Geralt.” Jaskier’s tone is level, but he’s suddenly much closer and when fingers brush at Geralt’s jaw he flinches back.

They are always calm, as they rationalize their accommodations and make Geralt to be the unreasonable one.

“Please,” he whispers, trying to push the inevitable away for just moment more. “I’ll behave, you don’t need to, I swear I won’t hurt you-”

“Shhhh,” Slim fingers cover his mouth and Geralt’s eyes snap open, still black as they widen in panic at the thought of being _muzzled_.

Some healers prefer not to have their homes scare clients away with screams of pain, some partners prefer the sure method of avoiding a scarring bite, and he hates it more than anything in the world, but- if it’s what Jaskier would need to stay with him, to keep touching him, he’d agree and it _terrifies_ him.

“Shhh, it’s okay!” Jaskier pulls his hands back, eyes wide as they flit across Geralt’s face, gliding over his eyes and clearly unsure where to look at. He lifts his palms up, open and placating as he kneels by the tub. “I just need to know if you need a moment before I start cleaning you up. I’m not gonna-” he frowns, clearly halting some choice words if the acidic rage coming off of him is any indication, before he continues “No restrains, Geralt, I promise.”

Geralt frowns, because it doesn’t make sense, but then Jaskier adds:

“I know you won’t harm me. I trust you.” his voice is soft and kind and he’s smiling and something melts inside Geralt, making him sag against the tub.

Because who ever trusted him? His brothers, maybe, as far as he trusts them to help with a fight if need be and not to murder him in the winter, but above that? And a human no less, when it comes to witcher under potions and wounded and so _not in control_?

“How?” he asks again before he can think it trough, because he needs to know, he needs to know what convinces Jaskier or what he expects of him, so he do his best to keep at it, whatever would it be, forever.

Jaskier frowns instead of answering, air salty with pure _hurt_. He’s silent for a good while before he leans closer, hands slowly coming up to cradle Geralt's face and he forgets how to breathe then.

“I will do something, which I have wanted to do for a while, but you need to promise to push me away if you don’t like it, okay?” Jaskier whispers, so close his breath warms Geralt’s skin and his nods.

Because he’d promise him anything, just to keep him close, to have him touch him like this just a moment longer.

Jaskier takes a shaky breath, mumbles something inaudible as his fingers stroke at Geralt’s temple, and then he leans in. It must say something about how out of it witcher is if he realises it’s a kiss only when their lips finally touch and Jaskier stays there.

He does realise it though and he knows how those things go. So he closes his eyes and _resigns himself_ , expecting Jaskier to deepen the kiss, to get into water or pull him out, to take advantage of witcher made docile with potions and exhaustion and a few gentle touches.

Jaskier does none of those things, fingers stroking idly at Geralt’s jawline as his lips slide gently across his own, never even pushing, let alone demanding more. It’s chaste and slow and most of all it’s so gentle it makes witcher shake, the tight fragile thing filling his chest until he can’t hide the low moan at the back of his throat, because he’s not sure he remembers ever being kissed like that. 

Jaskier slowly moves away, but his hands stay cradling Geralt’s face as he smiles, shaky and utterly radiant.

“That’s why.” he whispers, soft as silk, brushing a strand of hair behind witcher’s ear. “I know you and I trust you… now, let me do the cleaning and then patch you up, okay?

Geralt nods again, almost mindlessly, biting down on his lip when Jaksier pulls his hands and he wants to lean after them. He forces himself to keep still, closing his eyes to hide the black away since he still feels the potions in his veins, even if Jaskier doesn’t seem to mind.

Jaskier slowly washes off the grime from his hair, then his skin, finally cupping water in his hands to gently wash the wounds, humming a tune under his breath. Geratl slowly relaxes under his touch, leaning against the tub and feeling is mind calm down, the sharp focus of potions ebbing away until he feels mostly like himself.

“Now come on, to the bed with you.” Jaskier pats him on the arm and Geralt blinks back to focus, enough to stand up and dry himself, but then he just stands by the tub.

He wants- _more_. More of Jaskier’s touch and voice, his soft kisses and kind words, more of whatever he will give him, no matter the price. All his life is about paying others, it would be nothing new and Jaskier is worth so much more than anyone else before-

“I can hear you thinking, you know?” Jaskier laughs and when Geralt looks at him, there are small wrinkles by his eyes. “Come on.” he gently grabs his wrist, fingers looping around loosely as he tugs him towards the bed.

Geralt lets himself be pushed down, making a face when Jaskier’s hand retreats and trying to grasp at is.

“Just gonna wrap some bandages, love, give me a moment.” Jaskier smiles again and Geralt isn’t sure if he knows what he just said, but just in case he tries his best not to react, in hopes of it happening again even if it’s meaningless.

He obidiently raises his arm to get the slowly closing gash bandaged, then a few more wounds are treated the same. After the last one he looks up at Jaskier with not really hidden hope.

Jaskier smiles again, bright and happy as he sits down at the bed.

“Come here, witcher.” he grabs at Geralt’s arm and the usualy biting words sound gentle in his mouth. “You earned your rest, don’t you think?” he manoeuvres Geralt to lie down, head on Jaskier’s lap, his arms and hands put to the sides as not to pull at the wounds.

Geralt closes his eyes with a sighs, shivering as nimble fingers start to brush through his hair.

“Sleep.” Jaskier bends down just enough to leave a kiss at his temple before pulling a blanket over him, the air smelling sweet with affection and nothing else.

Geralt doesn’t want to sleep, he wants to relish this kind touch as long as he’s allowed, but the exhaustion makes his mind quiet down. He can only hope Jaskier will still be there when he wakes up.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by post by goldandlights, to be found here: https://goldandlights.tumblr.com/post/612750074027573248/btw-this-vibes-hard-with-snitling-s
> 
> And yes, another part is in the works already because of course it is.


End file.
